


Typically Cliché Classics

by Eunin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And natasha has emotions here, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fine i’m a coward sue me dammit, Fluff, Highschool AU, Is this canon divergence tho?????, I’m such an idiot lmaooo how do you tag smh, M/M, Most stucky shippers don’t like starker, Oh wait, Pining, SO, Slight smut (soon), Slow Burn, Starker, Swearing, TA!Tony Stark, Teacher’s Assistant!Tony Stark, There’s stucky here too but I’m not gonna tag, also there’s swearing, crappy comedy, i tried :/, idk but I’m gonna tag that anyways, is swearing a tag, ohhhhh boi lots of pining, she’s not a rock jfc-, that’s a tag right, two dorks in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-06 08:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15882609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eunin/pseuds/Eunin
Summary: "Peter, I swear to God, if I hear one more dreamy sigh from you I'm gonna walk up to Stark and immediately expose every single rant you've said about him-""Woah- what?No.No, no- no, no!" Peter winces. "Please don't tell him - MJ - please don't! He's- he'd be so weirded out, and then he'd tell Aunt May, and then she'd freak out, and when she freaks out I freak out, and-""Okay! Pete-Peter!” She tugs down his hands which were flailing widly, "Calm your ass, I won't." MJ pauses, cocking her head. "..At least until you start sighing again today.”Ned snaps them out of their mini conversation before Peter could yelp another syllable, hurriedly tapping their shoulders."Um, guys," the boy squeaks, "I think he heard us."[~]"Tony, he blushes anytime you're even near in his line of vision-""And if I could add, Tones, he looks like he'd start crying happily if you even so much as hug him, not even kidding-""Fucking God, I wish he would just fuckingnotice me!"Rhodey sighs, along with Pepper.“..Why do we even try at this point?”





	1. Prologue | History

**Author's Note:**

> **This Mess In a Nutshell:** ✧ In which Peter has a concerning thing for genius ex-tutors who are suddenly his History teacher's way more interesting TA, Ned quotes every Star Wars meme and vine ever, MJ cackles now and then at her friend's interesting woes, Pepper seems like hot salt, Rhodey is more reasonable than Jarvis, and Tony is the god of being oblivious as f%ck ✧
> 
>  
> 
> ( **Side nutshell:** Steve and Bucky are in love, Peggy’s just as succesful as Steve when it comes to flirting with women, Natasha is hella protective, and May’s almost as confused as Ned.)

"Look, Mr. Stark! I'm you!" Peter grins at Tony's scrunched up face, wiggling his eyebrows. The man had just arrived for their latest tutoring meet-up, and Peter'd entertained himself with waiting by shaping whipped cream onto his face similar to the style of Mr. Stark's slight goatee.

A beat passes before the older lets his confusion fall and simply brushes off Peter's oddness, stepping into the small apartment and tucking his shoes against the back of the door on the entrance mat.

"Mornin', You," he snorts, holding back a chuckle. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Very obviously complimenting ya, duh! Impersonation is a very big form of flattery."

Tony grudgingly lets out his chuckle, ruffling Peter's hair. "You're getting better with words, kid. That new chocolate milk addiction got something to do with it?" He teases.

Peter — such an adorable child, bless his soul — nods in all seriousness, face solemn and eyes shining. "Definitely," the boy affirms, then adds, "and I don't mind, it's making me more handsome too, right?"

The 23-year-old man studies the freshly dried fluffy curls of hazel framing his face, the baggy pyjamas hanging off his slight frame, the expectant smile and the face full of whipped cream.

"Yeah," he shrugs. "Sure. It makes you look _handsome.._ " Tony then trails off, deliberately smirking, eyebrow raised.

Peter puffs out his cheeks, wiping away the whipped cream with a washcloth in the kitchen as Tony snickers loudly and prepares their session.  
"You're just jealous I had a better goatee, Mr. Stark!" Peter calls out, rinsing the rag.

 

 

Sometimes, Peter still can't wrap his head around the fact that _the_ Tony Stark willingly goes throughout the country voulenteering to help random kids like him. When he and Aunt May were looking for tutors to help with his advanced classes because May needed to work more after getting promoted, both Parker's nearly fell off their chairs when they got a message on the website from Tony's CEO.

_'It seems that the brightness of Mr. Peter Parker and his absoloutely inspiring passion for learning has caught our attention. Those videos on your profile show his dedication and that's exactly what we look for in future interns. Although we are aware he's too young, Stark Industries is already sending many other people who're sent to encourage — teach — lots of young children shape the future of our World. Hopefully you do not turn this down, but I assure you there will be no problems if you do. If you would be so kind, please give us an answer via email before Thursday about your choice.  
-Pepper Potts.'_

In truth, Peter finds out that Tony didn't usually tutor much kids, apparently he choses the ones he found most intuitive or interesting.

Those who catch his eye.

Who 'remind him a better version of his younger self'.

 

So it's exactly why Peter's shock about opening the door one fine Saturday night dressed in the best clothes he could pull together as he finds his childhood hero standing on his doorstep still hasn't worn off.  
Because how could he — in any way — be _better_ than _Tony Stark?_

Insane.

 

He remembers how their first "sesh" was — about as awkward as Peter's usual human-to-human levels of awkward.  
Which meant it was horrid. Embarrassing.  
A full two hours filled of his stuttering, blatant staring and drowning-fish noises.

Suffice to say, it was too awkward _—(Hi, uh— hey, y-yeah I'm Pete- um, Peter..." "Woah, relax. I know. How about get started?")—_ and Peter cringes at the unwanted memory.

Yet he supposes the first meet wasn't too bad, it was worth it for all the other meetings that came after, their whole tutor thing did end up being okay.  
Sure, the awe/fanboying didn't disappear completely, and he zones out every now and then because of Tony's calming voice, but he now controls the urge to cackle like a dope at random times, which is a huge damn blessing.

(It really is. Especially with how bad Tony'd reacted the first instance it happened.)

 

 

"Pft, mine fucking rocks, pretty sure that milk is messing with your head!" Comes the playful comeback, and Peter snaps out of his thoughts, drying his hands.

 _'Moments I've Made Tony Smile Number 257,'_ he thinks as he enters the living room, _'should probably write that update down before I forget.'_

 

Peter's met with the amusing sight of Tony Stark adjusting himself on the cheap couch he and Aunt May managed to gather enough money for. He clears his throat, grinning at the thousands of holographic notes around the living room emitted from a single Stark Phone on the table.

 

_'Peter, it's TONY STARK'S Stark Phone, how are you still not crying from joy?! AsdfGHJKL-'_

_'Shut up, I'm trying to be casual,'_ the 11-year-old scolds his fanboy thoughts before finally speaking up.

 

"Wow. It's been a year and a half, Mr. Stark. Struggling with the sofa is something I thought prodigies like you'd get over after the third week," he grins, hopping over the arm rest to sit beside him.

"What can I say?" Tony shrugs, and Peter notes the sparkle in his smile whenever he's about to say something ridiculous. "I'm used to my couches that don't have the possibility of having once been shitted on by a bird. Garage sales aren't my thing."

"...Okay, now that's just m _ean-_ "

 

 

 

**[~]**

 

 

 

 

 

Peter weaves his way in and out of Midtown's bustling student groups, making his way down the hallway to his locker, avoiding eye contact for the sake of not offending anybody.  
Fights in school wasn't something he particularly enjoyed.  
(Not because he's weak, no, that spider bite helped him a ton — but because if he accidentally stopped focusing on keeping his abbilities at bay in the middle of a brawl, he might end up severely hurting someone. May would be so disappointed. He couldn't do that to her.)  
He dodges the few inventions buzzing around the air, mumbling a few 'pardon's and 'sorry's here and there for even less chances of a fight. Peter awkwardly shuffles side to the clump of cheerleaders chirping in their usual spot near his locker, spiking the volume in his phone to get louder.  
A heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

Peter lowers his volume almost on instinct, waiting for Ned to make himself known in the unique way he does, lips twitching upwards.

"Young jedi.. Is BB- hungry?"

He quickly pulls out his needed books from the open locker, locking it right after, and turns, exhaling loudly to mute his bubbling laughter, 'super-best-friends-hand-shaking' with Ned.

"Nah, man, BB _8._ "

 

 

"Oh my God, they're still so lame."

Ignoring the mutters from cheerleaders sashaying away, the boy shoulder-bumps Ned as they both giggle low under their breaths. He sighs, appreciating the comfortable silence.

Well at least until—

 

 

"So..." Ned smirks, a rare sight to behold, eyebrows raised at worriesome levels.  
"Spider-man saving _Michelle Jones?_ And then getting spotted _walking her home?_ Again? Isn't that amazing! Y'know anything about it?"

Peter feels his default reaction to someone saying anything to him in a suggestive tone; eyes getting bigger than their natural shape, mouth dropping open, rapid heat spreading across his chest to his cheeks and all the way to the tips of his ears, and decides to simply slap a hand over his mouth and look away. He slows his steps, scuffing a shoe against the floor.  
"'S not like _that-_ don't make it sound so weird! I help her because I wanted to, not because I have a crush- Dammit, Ned."

Ned laughs.

"You muffling your words under your palm and glaring at that piece of gum on the ground isn't helping your case, buddy, but no problemo,” he winks.

Peter groans, backstabbing blush turning even more heated — he was sure his face was a squashed tomato, all rojo and gross.  
"You suck."

 

 

 

 

"And you swallow."

 

 _"HOLY SHIT."_  
Both boys practically squeal, whirling around to meet the bemused stare of MJ, who's leaning against the wall, book in hand, looking just the same as everyday.  
Ned has to stop a full blown wheeze when he sees Peter try and fail to greet her.  
Spider-man would've said a joke or subtle pick up line the very moment.  
Peter Parker? A drowning goldfish.

_So damn obvious._

Michelle — the lil' shit — saunters forward, up until she's looking down at Peter's huge eyes, smirking. "'Sup, loser. Had a good night's sleep?"

"MJ- H-Hi, uh, no- wait! No as in like I'm not a loser but- sleep isn't no- as in like I had a good sleep- um, good _night's_ sleep-"

The girl sighs, front softening, head cocked to the left.  
"Still like me, huh?"

Peter groans for the second time as the group starts walking again, smiling lopsidedly. "I'm really sorry, MJ, it's just-"

"Don't sweat it, I don't mind," she shrugs, "not your fault I have a female boner for Pepper Potts." Michelle grins, all sharp teeth and teasing eyes.

Ned snickers along with Peter, patting the latter's back. "Yeah, not your fault either you suddenly start liking her the beggining of this year."

Peter huffs.  
"Life has a personal vendetta against me."

"What's so special about lil' ol' me anyways?" MJ inquires, eyelashes fluttering in that mocking way Peter finds more funny than pretty.

He hums. "I dunno? I guess the sass and snark.. and brown hair? I really like dark brown hair, oddly. You're taller than me, very smart.. you have some confusing dislike for the Captain America series that I find awesome, for some reason. I.."

Ned and MJ share a look above his head while Peter studies his sweater paws, thinking hard.

"Um, woah," MJ teases, poking his shoulder, "didn't mean to get you so serious there, kid. Smile a bit, yeesh!"

 

 

 

_’Kid..?'_

 

Peter's heart skips a beat and his head whips around, almost slamming straight into MJ's. He looks at the school entrance, fuzzy warmth in him, before the abrupt fog clears out and he's reeling.  
"Peter! What was that?" Ned gapes, steadying the other boy, and Peter locks eyes with both him and MJ.

He winces.

 _’Crap. What_ was _that..'_

 

 

 

"I don't know."

 

 

The trio reach their morning class together, two uneasy and one dizzy, before Ned breaks the worried tension, exahaling a little laugh. "So, anywho, did you guys know there'd be a TA for Mr. Rogers? Apparently he's this big celebrity, who do you think he'll be?"

MJ grunts, but nods secretly at Ned, thankful for the icebreaker, "If it's DJ Khaled or anyone like that I'm getting out my sharpie marker to autograph his forehead."

"Dude," Peter laughs, relaxing, "you really wanna get in trouble near the end of the year? I mean, sure, a few months off, but you're still cutting it close!"

"Judging a woman's choices? Is that _sexism_ I hear?" MJ gasps dramatically, flinging open the class' door before Ned and Peter could yell for her to not to.

 

 

It slams into the doorstopper.

The whole class stares at them.

"Mi _chelle,_ " Ned sighs out a whine of complaint. Peter sighs along with him, not bothering to look at Mr. Roger's surely confused/disappointed face, herding his friends into their usual spots.

As expected, the man speaks up once they're in their seats.  
"Michelle, this is the fourth time this week you've roughly opened the door, are you sure there's nothing bothering you?"  
He cocks his head at Peter.  
"As for you, young man, and Ned, you boys usually aren't late to class, but this is the fourth time for you two as well! Do I need to make a call out to your guardians? You kids aren't bad, I know, but lately—"

"—you've been awesome. Great. That's settled. Nice teacher-ness. Now, Steve, can I continue my rant about how Captain America Is A Horrible Superhero Series interrupting your rant about Hitler and whatnot? Yeah? Thanks, Gramps, you're the best!" Buts in a drawl from the right corner of the front of the class, opposite of Steve's desk.

 

 

Peter almost stabs his leg with a pen, mind halting at the sight of his oldest friend.

 

 

 

Hair fluffy and mussed, some pieces falling into his eyes which spark continously in the way that's so _Tony Stark_ , graphic t-shirt paired with pressed slacks and sunglasses paired with an old Dora watch paired with his _entire self._

 

Tony is here.

He's here in front of him yammering passionately about childish b.s and it's so familiar yet so foreign at the same time that Peter is _shaking_ because of his emotions.

Is he thrilled? Relieved? Upset? Baffled? Ecstatic? Angry? Frustrated? Amused? Melancholic? Joyous? Bitter?

 

 

 

 

(But why would he feel anything other than, positive shit, you ask? Why would Peter Parker be anything but happy about his idol?  
Well.

Because he just _disappeared_ one day and _never_ came back.  
Because he'd crushed Peter's weird-ass eleven-year-old heart when the child back then had waited till seven in the _damn morning_ for Mr. Stark to come.  
Because he believed Mr. Stark wouldn't just up and leave him like that, right? Mr. Stark would've at least said goodbye, right?

No.

Because barely a day after word spread and the whole world thought him fucking _dead_ and even if reassurances of his health were thrown here and there Peter couldn't find anything about his favorite tutor online anywhere and _shit-_ he gave up looking six months ago.

But now.. Tony...

Here is Tony Stark, glowing with purpose as he rants about a _godamn_ fictional show, making crazy hand gestures and unnecessary jokes that coming from any other person would've simply annoyed his audience. It doesn't, though.

Because it's Tony saying them.

 

 

And he's here.

He's _**here.**_

 

 

Peter doesn't know what to feel.)

 

 

 

 

"So," the man exclaims, paying no attention to Steve's heavy sigh, turning back to the students enraptured by his rant (read: amazing charisma, no doubt) and continuing right where he left off. "As I was saying, Captain America doesn't even have a real name, how much more bullshit-"

"-language-" Steve mumbles uselessly.

"-can this show make? They literally made his mother name him Captain America. Imagine how stupid that would be!  
  _'Hey which cap'n do I have to pass the order onto?'_  
  ' _Captain_.'  
  ' _Yeah, I know it's gotta be a captain. I'm asking which one though.'_  
  ' _Captain!'_  
  ' _Jesus, I know! Answer the damn question already!'_  
Honestly? So dumb," Tony rolls his beautiful eyes, grinning at the many snickers and laughs from the class. Peter prays for Tony to see him while praying for Tony to not see him and he's surprised at how he hasn't collapsed on the floor hysterical yet.

 

Then finally, the man looks around.

 

 

At last surveys the room.

 

 

 

He sees Peter.

 

 

 

 

And doesn't react a bit.

 

No words, no actions.  
Just slides his assesing gaze right past.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fuck it.

Peter's definitely gonna focus on the Upset(™) part of his miscellaneous emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I’m Amore I’m sixteen and I never fuckin learned how to wRitE.
> 
> *sobs in gibberish*
> 
> ASDFGHJKL- _I’m SoRrY_ -  
> I know this probably looks like trash and all but I swear I have a plan for this fic oml please don’t get offended by my crappy writing, dearest Starker fans! I beta myself, so there’s plenty of horrible mistakes..  
> (TT~TT)  
> But anyways I’ll try fixing up the next chapter right away so that y’all won’t be stuck with like ten thousand question marks in your heads.  
>  ~~(Emphasis on try because I procastinate like a bo$$ and school’s started which means more procrastination!!!)~~  
>  And actually I wouldn’t mind critisism and corrections, since (again) I have no beta and this is my first fanfiction ever  
> (; v ;)/  
> So, um, yeah!  
> That is all I have to say-  
> *gets shot by twenty tomatoes*


	2. Chapter One | 9-1-1? I wanna commit a fucking murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmaoooo look guys more horrible writing (. ‿ .)!

Peter sits on his bed, panting heavily after a harsh afternoon of patrol, amateur made suit sticking right to his sweaty skin as he closes the window with a shaky arm.

It's been two weeks since the info of Mr. Stark being Mr. Roger's new T.A hit him harder than gunshots, and the way he's treating Peter is driving said boy insane.

Not even kidding, because- what the hell?

Pretty-much-close-friends for two years, and then, what?

Tony's seen him, he knows he has.

So why the fuck did he not do anything.

Peter knows the older man has seen him at least once. He is in Mr. Roger's class, after all, which raises the question pounding at his skull. 

..Is it their age difference? 

No way it was that. 

They were extremely tight during their past years together, and Tony hung out with him like a best friend would, despite the age gap. Plus, Tony made it clear then that age didn't matter to him when it came to meets 'n greets, considering he thought Rhodey was fifteen during their first conversation and still wanted to be buddies. 

So.

Yeah. 

Age was out. 

Then what else?  

Peter rolls to bite at his pillow, brushing off the sting of his ankle arm in place of yelling muffled swears. Seriously, who throws away such a good relationship so fast like that? (Not him, that's who.) He hopes that person isn't Tony. 

Peeling off his mask, Peter breathes in heavily, squinting at the lights lining his neighborhood, eyelids droped half way.

"I shouldn't even be thinking about this," he tsks, "not like it even mattered much. He's just an old tutor. Yeesh."

 

A beat.

  

"But he could've said something — 'stead I get nothin'. No _hi Pete's_ or _how's it going?’_ sor _you've gotten taller, kid!_ or even _I'm so sorry for vanishing like some fucked up ghost after telling you I'd see you tomorrow, please, please forgive me. Also, your hair's nice!’_ s That douchebag."

"Douchebag? I thought I was your friend, Parker," Michelle pipes up as she opens the door, eyebrows raised.

"..Not now," Peter groans, flopping backwards, pillow still crushed to his face. 

"Ignoring my jokes, and not stuttering.. this is serious, damn," she chugs a bit of spiked pop, before slumping beside Peter. "What's the emotional forecast?" 

"Stormy as hell, lots of sun, but mostly stormy."

MJ scrunches her nose.

"..Ew. Miscellaneous."

"Thanks," Peter grumbles from under his pillow.

"No problem," she replies without hesitation.

Sighing, Peter sits up once more, leaning against her shoulder (—"heh, is this a love-y moment?"—"be quiet, I'm pouting, dammit."—), and stares blankly at his sock covered toes.

"MJ-"

  

"Y'know," she drawls, "it's been a week since the whole 'Stark is Roger's TA every wednesday-slash-friday' thing, why're you still so hung up?" 

"I.. I-" 

"Don't know?"

"Quit interrupting me," Peter cuts, huffing.

Michelle waves her middle finger casually, "hold up, lame-o, I think I'm comin' onto something here."

"Mind tellin' me so I'll stop feeling ticked that you butt in a lot?" The other asks dryly.

"Fine, alright- why do you like me again?"

"..What.” Peter deadpans. Then his annoyance peaks a slight bit. “A-Are you kidding me? I'm literally in the middle of a shit fest of thinking and you‘re trying to drag out compliments? Seriously? What’s wrong w-“

" _Don't just spit on me for no damned reason, you fucker.”_  

Peter's eyes widen, scooting back unconsciously — away from her. She didn't yell, or raise her voice, unless she was stressed or frustrated or anything related to those two. It seems that Michelle realizes her tone, as well, because the girl immediately growls a choked sound right after, burrying her head in her hands.

"Hey.. you're not..?"

"Sorry,” She groans. “I- sorry. Mom's a fucking devil, I hate my drug gang of a family," is all MJ spits, before looking back at Peter. Her form relaxes, mouth twitching up. "Doesn't matter, I need to make you feel better, because that's how I'll feel better. Which means finishing my theory, which includes you telling me all the reasons you like me, again. So. Do it." 

"..Okay," Peter mumbles, curling into himself. “Okay.”

"I- Guess I could start with, um- sass and snark. Yeah. And brown hair? My weird preferance for dark brown hair. Uh- you're taller, pretty genius.. you don't like the Captain America series, your humor's pretty unnessecary most of the time, but actually really funny when people think about it. 

You do the opposite of what people boss you to do, and that's normally annoying, but it's kinda laughable when you do it. Go against the tides and all that. 

You're good with tech..? And you stand for what you believe in. Sometimes when I'm really difficult with doing things you don't give up on me? Those type of stuff, are what I like about you. I guess."

 

Michelle holds in a big grin, negative feelings fading, nodding instead. She thinks of the ten bucks Ned will owe her, and digs her nails into her palms to stop an even bigger grin from splitting her face in half.

"Nice, okay, good reasons, I suppose. Thanks, that made me feel better." 

Peter makes a face.

"It did? You look like you're holding rattlesnakes in your mouth." 

"Everyday, it's my natural look," She shrugs, "Anyways... I wonder, how was the Tony Stark at the ripe age of his twenties, huh? Must've been damn interesting!"

"MJ.. are you sick? Because you usually don't change topics this fa-"

"'M simply curious about Stark's old self, spill the beans, dude."

"Alright," Peter blinks, eyebrows high, "I don't remember much, but I'll try..?"

  

He clears his throat. 

"Well, erm- Mr. Stark was great, he's like those good substitutes you get in elementary — all patience and attentiveness.Of course he wasn't the best, his tutoring wasn't _that_ interesting..”

Peter thinks of giggles after game overs, ridiculous arguments about random topics and food fights over Aunt May's cherry pies.

He doesn't hold the thought.

"And hm, what else..? Er, he didn't quit on me when I was complaining about a particular part of the equations, or snap when I was being moody, when I was difficult. So. That was nice.

Also, back then — I'm not so sure now — Mr. Stark had real passion for tech, not just because of his talent. Prodigy, right? He truly lives up to his legends. Everytime we took breaks during sessions he'd pull out his phone — the ones he made — and we'd just fool around a bit with it. Funny selfies, try not to laughs, things like that on holograms surrounding us. Like a private circle. That was nice too.

Mr. Stark also had an odd dislike with the Captain America series, which I found hilarious; him muttering under his breath every time the movie-slash-show came on.

He insisted the whole plot of it was cliché, and that his dad knew shit about choosing good superheroes to force children to idolize, heh. 

And Mr. Stark was pretty stubborn, doing mostly what he thought was right, but never for his own good. Usually when he broke rules, it was for the sake of others.

A pretty lowkey example is when an online math textbook page from my teacher showed us how to do the correct equation in order to solve for x, and Mr. Stark didn't even bother explaining it to me after quickly reading, just asked if I wanted to understand the problem well. Of course I said yes, so he explained in his own 'Tony Stark' way. I looked at the problem ayear after that, and realized he was right about it being a horibble explanation.

Adding onto that with his stubborness, is the time Mr. Stark was told very rudely by a man that he'd have to make it to some snobby party for company reasons at 7am exactly, so he arrived at 4am all dressed and ready, only to prank the host secretly by messing with the water jets in their shower then never get caught all throughout the party!"

Peter starts to ease up his tense frame, without notice, and MJ smirks internally. _Man_ , she thinks, _finally_.

"And- and his jokes, gosh, either so bad they're hilarious, or so hilarious your stomach'd feel bad. Really unecessary and unwanted almost every time, but undeniably awesome.

His trademark comebacks and sassy responses were even more spleen-splitting, he answers in a way that's snarky but factual that makes it difficult to fight back. I used to enjoy seeing him leave people speechless during interviews and such those years ago, their faces- priceless!" 

Peter hums, eyes drooping.

"Mr. Stark still had the same dark brown hair that turned lighter under certain lights, and he was way taller than my eleven-year-old self, but that doesn't really count because I don't even know if I'm taller now-"

"So," MJ grins, "what I gathered is that Tony Stark was a hella smart brunette who was taller than you that put up with your shit, told crappy or hysterical jokes, a tech-savvy and sass-machine in one, had a totally right dislike towards the crappy Captain America bs, and stuck to his beliefs?"

"...Yeah?"

"And what you like about me is my hella awesome knowledge, my brown hair, my height, my willingness to deal with your crap, my fluctuating jokes, my tech-pro-ness, my snark, my slight hate for C.A, and how I stick to my beliefs?"

"I don’t understand..?”

”...”

”I also don’t understand why you're giving me that face."

"What face?"

"You're still doing it! Y'know, that face, the one that makes me feel dumb."

"Because you are."

"I'm _not_ -"

 

"Shush shush, child, shut your ass up and think over my assesments!"

"..Oh," Peter chokes under his breath, low and shaky — a dim lightbulb going off in his head. " _OH_."

"Yup," MJ lets her smirk show now, popping the 'p'. 

"This is just a coincidence.. right? MJ?” Peter laughs, strained and nervous. 

The doorbell rings. Michelle winks as she gets up.

”..MJ?”

“I’ll just go help May with the groceries.”

 

” _MJ!_ ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

[~]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sound of gunshots ring loud in his ears and Peter curses quietly, shooting a web haphazardly at some random building, when a bullet flies past and just about digs into his ankle.

He scowls, tucking himself to tumble onto the rough roof. Pants escape his mouth in a hurry, while he pulls himself up for the sake of not stopping movement — those muggers were still out there.

His ankle throbs as he stands, and Peter hisses, glancing down at the scratch. Nevermind. 

 _Not_ a scratch.

' _Ah, damn,_ ' he mentally whines, kneeling on one leg to study the large gash. It wasn't deep, but his blood was spilling, and Peter didn't wan't any part of him that had his dna traces to be left anywhere. Lord knows what would happen if the government figured out some 17-year-old teenager was Queen's beloved vigilante.

So Peter sits, mumbling colorful words, his gloves off and clumped against the wound, thinking of ways to keep following those muggers — they couldn't have gone too far, he trashed their car and webbed the bags of money to the alley's walls.

He still had time.

' _Gotta keep going, can't stop now_.'

Peter frowns, and he hears the telltale sound of stomps rushing up the emergency staircase of the apartment he's at. No way could he take five grown ass men dopedon steroids by himself, especially when his suit was nothing more than just that — a suit. Special? No. Bulletproof? No.

Homemade.

With plain fabric.

A flammable, pro-puncture and pro-tear, plain homemade suit.

"Why do they have to waste their time like this?" He asks under his breath as the footsteps sound higher and higher. "I'm seventeen. Sure they don't know that, but- can't they just keep struggling with the webbed money? What good would it do to murder me, do they want a blood-drenched teenage skinsuit?" Peter pauses. "Ew. Gross."

Yells of frustration and promises of a brutal death from his future murderers sound below and he puffs his cheeks.

"Actually," the boy sighs to himself, "wouldn't put it past 'em."

They reach the roof, all five, and Peter can't mute his Gen-Z thoughts from screeching a 'kill me already before I kermit sewer-slide!', putting him before the men with his lips pursed in an obvious struggle of not giggling. "Ya laughin', boy?" Scoffs a deep Brooklyn voice, "try laughin' when ma fist'n foot hi-"

 

 

 ** _BAM_**.

Blue light slams right into the mugger growling at Peter, and the boy flinches, scooting back, peering warily where the beam came from.

"I really don't understand the point of dialogue when you're not even moving. Wanna talk during your moment? Might as well do shit too. These people and their timing sometimes, Christ." 

..New York's saviour.

' _Um_.'

Peter gawks at the strong form of tech-covered-man, who's now turned to him.

Ironman — said to have saved Tony Stark from _death_ in some way — faces Spiderman, and he barely remembers that oh, his mask isn't off. Right.

The muggers, buzzing over their group's boss, he assumes, don't bother with fighting in place of worry for their leader. At least they seem to care a bit for each other, Peter thinks wryly.

"Hop on, Spiderboy."

Iron Man's warped voice orders, gesturing behind him where Mr. 'Money or murder' and his two goons were beggining to pull theirselves together.

"It's- ...It's Spiderma-"

"-Aaand this is the part where we leave, up you go!"

Peter yelps, (and it didn't sound _weird_ , thanks very much) clutching at Iron Man's shoulders for dear life as the state-wide sensation rips them from the roof, blasting away into the clouds of dawn. 

These powers really didn't help his case when it came to normalcy. In fact, his life just gets weirder every day now.

Sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[~]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"U-Um, sir? Hello?" Peter squeaks as loud as he can try over the whoosh of wind through his ears and steadily thinning oxygen. "I- my suit wasn't made for going this high, and 'm having trouble- can't really, uh, _breathe_?” 

Silence.

“Mr. Iron Man?”

 

“Almost there,” says the resigned voice, and Peter squeezes his arms around the man's shoulders tighter, shutting out the urge to look down when he knows they're higher than any heights he's climbed and swung.

"Alright," he stutters, too dizzy with the slow loss of regular oxygen to care about him acting like a little kid in distress.

Peter didn't have a problem with getting saved, don't get him wrong. When he needed help, it was great to get it. But he had a pet peeve with being treated like he was six. Like the time Aunt May took him out to their usual Thai dinner and the cashier commented on Peter's adorable cheeks and asked if he wanted a lollipop in a toddler voice.

He was fifteen.

Safe to say, if it weren't for Aunt May, the man would've been snapped in two by words.

Ergo, yes, Peter had issues with babying, not aid for his troubles.

 

Up above the clouds, with the occasional bird, Peter turns floppy in his stranger's hold, sinking into the feel of sure arms around his waist securing him and the smooth metal shoulder that Peter's cheek is pressed up against. Because he knew when someone wanted to genuinely help, his senses didn't spike when Iron Man arrived — the hero wasn't a threat to him — which means Peter could let some of his guard down.

The boy is tired, after all, it's 4am and with the sun barely shining, there wasn't much for him to hold onto that would keep him awake.

So Peter sighs, shuts his eyes, and takes a breath as he begins to fall asleep.

Oxygen still scarce, and Peter isn't breathing too normally, but he embraces the lightheadedness in order to snooze. It's okay.

 

 

Not even six minutes after he falls askeep does Iron Man's voice break his clear peace.

"Kid," Peter's heart skips, and he swears mentally at the unwanted reaction to a certain word.

"Yeah?" he mumbles, wiping his mouth for any traces of drool. God, drool on an amazing supersuit while flying with Mr. Stark's savior is not on his bucket list.

Iron Man's arms adjust and Peter gets a peek over his shoulder at the ground below.

 

Right under them was a large home, looking right out of an A+ real estate website, it's landing pad extended from the balcony in a quaint circle of marble and steel. Large windows that seem to have a one-way view as Peter can't see anything inside, and beautiful plants crawling all around the gorgeous walls and field behind. 

There's several people bustling through the house; maids and such, Peter assumes.

He tilts his head, moving his focus onto the faceplate hiding an identity he hopes he'll get to see.

This man was obviously rich.

Not as rich as Tony Stark (—' _there you go again, man, comparing random guys to your ex-tutor_ '—), but probably around the same rich-ness as the philanthropist's major staff.

So who is he?

 

 

"We're going down in a sec, hold tight," Iron Man grunts, slowing their flight till his thrustered feet meet the steel footprints on the marble landing pad. The man's grip loosens, nudging Spiderman onto his own two legs. Peter winces at the switch of his limb use, taking a few seconds to accommodate to the change mentally, even if his body took the shift in fluid stride.

Instantly, Iron Man brings a hand to his shoulder, leading him to the part of the balcony/landing pad covered by the roof of the room they're entering, carved path sloping into smooth stairs without edged corners.

Peter takes it all in.

 

Three cars parked on the tilted black spinning circles like those typical in Vegas movies, flashy red motorcycle parked next to the beat up parts of what looks like another fancy car that's been taken apart and wrecked on purpose.

Big metal tables scattered through the large space Peter dubs as Iron Man's makeshift garage are littered with stacks of blueprints, pens, and, McDonald's Big Mac wrappers..?

On the largest table sits one of the thinest laptops Peter's ever seen—missing most of it's parts, particularly it's keyboard—shiny and it's screen unmarked by not even a smidge of fingerprints. 

"JARVIS," Iron Man barks at seemingly nobody, striding till he reaches the giant table, where his suit is immediately removed by robotic-arm-like-machines in the roof's beams. Peter silently gawks at the shock of pitch black hair the man's lack of headwear shows him.

"Yes, sir?" Inquires an unexpected british voice from seemingly nowhere and what the actual fuck.

"Mind getting the kid to Med Bed? We gotta patch him up."

 

A pause.

 

"Also, play Chocolate while you're at it."

"Right away, sir," says the disembodied voice (somehow with.. amusement) and Peter's about to interrupt by talking directly to the nearest sensor/camera his spidey senses helped him spot, when his favorite childhood song starts blaring, and that decides Peter's choice. 'Cause really, why would he say no to the addictively sweet tune? 

Two cute beeps chirp up from behind him, and Peter isn't as shocked to see a crane-looking robot tilting it's arm here and there at his face, as if studying him.

The endearing thing's got a paper cone hat with DUNCE scribbled onto it. Smol Bean Bot (—' _okay it's taller than me but still_ '—) doesn't seem to mind the hat, but Peter hums in sympathy and pats the cone gently.

"There, there," he hums, "you're adorable, not stupid, don't feel ba-"

"What... are you doing?" The calming chuckle over 1975's accented music is not a sound Peter was prepared for, so the highschooler quickly whirls to face the legend that puts the man in Iron Man. ‘ _He’s probably some real cool—_ ’

 

 

 

 

Of course his superhero idol just had to turn out to be Mr. Stark.

 

Of _course._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringes* Whoomp. There. Another chapter.
> 
> Lots of ~~I am~~ Confusion™, yay!
> 
> (For chapter three, um, it’s gonna start talking about some of the other characters — i.e, MJ, Ned, May, etc.)  
> (It might be boring, so I’m sorry, but I kinda wanna show a bit more light about their own stories since this is most likely all very confusing.)


End file.
